


V-Verse

by ClaraxBarton



Category: Gundam Wing
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, Las Vegas, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-03
Packaged: 2018-09-27 21:47:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10052693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClaraxBarton/pseuds/ClaraxBarton
Summary: A collection of drabbles set in Las Vegas. They don't necessarily exist in the same universe (I will post a note in the chapter if they DO relate to a previous drabble). Really just a collection of drabbles because I miss Vegas.Pairings/style/length will all be different. I will post warnings/pairings each chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: I’m homesick for Vegas, and Tumblr is not helping so I decided to write some drabbles set in Vegas. These will probably all be in different universes, and have different pairings. Some might grow into larger stories. If you have a craving for a drabble set in Vegas, let me know and I will see what I can do!

A/N2: Thank you forever Ro, for the beta reading and indulging me in all the crazy.

 

Warnings: angst, language

Pairings: 3x5xM

 

_ V1 _

He was going to be late.

Which, all things considered, wasn’t the worst outcome of last night’s… choices.

Wufei rooted around for his tie, digging through a pile of clothes and tossing aside a scrap of black lace that MIGHT generously be called panties.

It had started off well enough - his portfolio presentation had gone well, with the faculty asking tough questions and Wufei delivering answers that might have been a little sharp but seemed to be well received all the same.

He really, really wanted to be accepted into the MFA sculpture program at UNLV. Not just because it was a five-hour flight from New York and his parents, but because the program chair was one of the most awe-inspiring figures Wufei had ever encountered.

Wufei couldn’t decide if he hated Treize Khushrenada or idolized him - but either way, Wufei  _ needed _ to learn from him.

After the presentation, there had been a tour, then dinner with some of the current grad students before someone drove Wufei back to his hotel.

He had booked a room at the Wild Wild West, a hotel that advertised “serviceable” rooms for only $19.99 a night. The hotel had lived up to its name and Wufei’s worst fears - but it was a bed, and he only needed it for two nights.

As soon as he had been dropped off, Wufei had changed out of his suit and into jeans and a sweater, stashed his portfolio and suitcase under the bed, and walked the mile and a half to the Las Vegas Strip.

Last night, his flight had gotten in just after midnight, and today had been too important for him to be irresponsible.

But tonight… tonight he deserved to celebrate, or mourn, his future.

He started off at the MGM Grand, drinking three overpriced cocktails and losing twenty dollars in the slots, and then he had walked off his buzz in the chilly night air, walking the length of the Strip until he ended up in the faded downtown.

The Golden Nugget had been more affordable, the slots more generous, and Wufei had left the casino with an extra $100.

But it wasn’t until he sat down at a blackjack table at the Monte Carlo that the night really took a turn.

He won. And he won again, and again, and again.

By the time he cashed out, Wufei had made almost $5,000.

And caught the attention of two of the most beautiful people he had ever seen.

Trowa Barton, the dealer at Wufei’s table, and Meilan Long, a woman who lost several hundred dollars while Wufei made his several thousand.

Trowa’s shift ended halfway into Wufei’s run of good luck, and when he did cash out, he looked up to see Trowa, dressed in jeans, t-shirt and black motorcycle jacket, smirking down at him.

They went to Planet Hollywood, to a bar filled with black lights and a wait staff that seemed to know Trowa intimately, and Wufei, Meilan and Trowa drank and flirted, and after an hour of Wufei’s pulse dancing they actually went dancing.

Some exclusive club that Meilan’s looks and Wufei’s cash got them into, and after hours of grinding together, of hands tangled and lips brushing over necks and ears and mouths, they went to Meilan’s room at the Bellagio.

And then… and then Wufei remembered absolutely nothing.

Except waking up late, his flight scheduled to leave in less than an hour, and he couldn’t find his wallet or his pants.

And, now that he looked at the bed again, he couldn’t help but notice that Meilan was the only one in it.

Trowa, and his clothes, was gone.

And Wufei was willing to bet his wallet was tucked into a pocket of Trowa’s absurdly tight jeans.

Okay, so maybe it was going to be worse than just being late after all.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From Tumblr, a VERY angsty 6x2

A/N: Another V-verse drabble. No particular universe. For Crown of Winterthorne as part of Bribery Thursdays over on Tumblr.

 

Warnings: angst holy shit I’m sorry angst.

 

Pairings: 6x2, 2xR

  
  


The good thing about being one grade update away from flunking out of the engineering program at the University of Nevada-Las Vegas was the proximity of the university to the Las Vegas strip (three blocks - three western blocks, which meant a bit of a fucking haul). OR, for anyone who couldn’t be bothered to walk quite that far before attempting to drown their misery and/or - definitely AND - gamble away the few dollars that remained at the end of the month after paying for rent, gas, food, too fucking expensive cat meds for a fucking cat that didn’t even LIKE YOU - if that walk was too far, you could simply cross the damn street in the OTHER direction and fall into the smoky darkness of Stakeout, drink yourself into a stupor and play the digital poker game embedded into the bar until you were broke and too drunk to do anything but whine as Kerry, the forty-five year old mother of three demon spawn kids, carried your sorry, drunk ass out to a taxi and sent you home to vomit in your own bathroom so she didn’t have to clean it up.

 

That, at least, was what Duo had been counting on doing after he turned in his midterm exam for ME301 - Structure and Properties of Solids (SPS) or, as Duo would forever think of a fucking class that counted the midterm as fifty fucking percent of the fucking course grade, the class that would end his mediocre career as an engineer before it even got started.

 

It wasn’t even that HARD of a class. Okay, it was a fucking nightmare - with daily, DAILY problem sets that had to be turned in online and lectures that assumed you had read the required reading AND the suggested reading AND the readings suggested in the suggested readings to even begin to follow along. It was tough as hell, and Duo hated it just as much as the other seventy-five students in his section. But… but there were some days, some MINUTES, when he completely understood what Dr. Zhao was talking about and it felt like everything made sense and it made Duo think that he wasn’t an idiot, that he wasn’t a failure, that he DID have something he was good at and-

 

And then the fucking midterm.

 

The worst part about it had been the fact that Duo KNEW all of the material. He KNEW it.

 

But when he sat down and stared at the fucking blue book and the pages of thin lines and the projected exam questions on the board and the pencil in his hand, his mind went completely blank.

 

Usually, tests were fine. Usually, tests were fucking EASY. Duo had coasted through high school and all of the freshman and sophomore level courses because he was really fucking good at taking tests.

 

But this one. THIS midterm. It was a complete fucking disaster because Duo’s mind went blank and his eyes felt like someone had thrown sand and Tabasco sauce into them and-

 

And yeah. Maybe sleep would have been a good idea the night before the midterm. Maybe sleep and breakfast - or hell, dinner the night before. And maybe even sleep the night before THAT would have been useful. 

 

But Duo hadn’t slept in three days, had barely eaten anything in that same time because, as usual, his life was a series of unfortunate fucking events that had led him to an animal emergency hospital one night with a cat seizing in his arms and digging his fucking claws into Duo’s skin whenever Duo tried to put him down, to another night at a different fucking hospital because clearly the dudes at the first one were fucking idiots, to a third night at a third hospital and Duo holding the cat that had hated him since the moment they first met five years ago as the veterinarian had injected the barbiturate and the cat’s hateful eyes had slowly glazed over and then closed and his claws had finally retracted from Duo’s flesh.

 

So, cat dead and incinerated, midterm flunked and future up in flames, Duo settled onto the uncomfortably sticky stool at the bar at Stakeout and signaled Alex, the bartender who maybe Duo had fucked twice and maybe would fuck again if he was drunk and depressed enough - and he was sure as fuck depressed enough so chances were that if Duo was still conscious when Alex’s shift ended he’d being going home with him.

 

Without having to ask, Alex filled a pilsner with the PBR on tap and slid it in front of Duo.

 

“Rough day?”

 

Duo snorted into the beer, wincing as it splashed onto his face.

 

“Is there any other kind?”

 

Alex raised an eyebrow, but before he could start to philosophize, the doors to Stakeout opened, letting in a blinding flood of the Vegas afternoon sunlight, before closing again.

 

Duo turned his head at the sound of laughter and recognized the group of five that had just entered - all graduate students in the mechanical engineering program. Duo knew two of them - Noin and Zechs. Noin was the TA for all of Zhao’s classes, including the one that Duo had just failed.

 

And Zechs…

 

Duo sighed as the blond haired man looked over and met his gaze. One of his pale, perfect eyebrows arched up in question, and Duo resolutely turned away.

 

The less he reflected on Zechs, the better.

 

After all, he had enough fucking mistakes to mull over.

 

Duo was on his third PBR and had already lost twenty dollars playing digital poker when, predictably, his dark, self-loathing slide into deeper and darker self-loathing was interrupted.

 

Their group must have gone upstairs, to the pool tables, because Duo hadn’t really heard or seen any of them for an hour, but suddenly Zechs was leaning against the bar beside him, hair up in that messy top knot that somehow managed to look completely disheveled and completely perfectly coiffed at the same time. 

 

“Looks like AceJoe6969 is kicking your ass,” Zechs said in that patronizing, perceptually amused by the inferiors who constantly surrounded him tone.

 

“Yeah, well…” Duo angrily pressed the fold button AGAIN and then drained his beer. 

 

He was buzzed, buzzed enough to be a little belligerent but definitely not buzzed enough to be pliable or agreeable. And it was clear that Zechs knew that, his icy blue eyes narrowed and his lips quirked as he met Duo’s gaze.

 

“Shouldn’t you be on your way to Tahoe by now or something?” Duo sneered. 

 

Zechs’s right eyebrow arched upwards.

 

“I’m driving up in the morning. How did you know?”

 

“Your sister,” Duo muttered, gratefully and stupidly taking a too-big sip of the beer Alex delivered to him.

 

“She invited you?” Zechs sounded surprised - and Duo had to laugh. 

 

Relena, Zechs’s little sister, was a junior like Duo. Unlike Duo, she was the perfect student - the top of their class to the chagrin of about two dozen guys who were within spitting distance of her GPA and weren’t used to a girl EVER being smarter than them. Or at least not acknowledged for it. 

 

He and Relena had dated, as freshmen, when Duo was still on the ‘I might be straight. I really might be straight. I just need the right girl and I will seriously stop thinking about cock, and I can go back to my foster family and not get kicked out of the church and really. Just try dating one more girl and I’ll be straight.’

 

Relena had not been the girl to reveal Duo’s inner, deeply-hidden heterosexuality. She had, in fact, been the girl who had invited Duo home for Thanksgiving at her parents’ Lake Tahoe ranch/mansion/villa/big fucking house with pools, tennis courts and horses. The girl who had invited him home to meet her family because she really liked him, because Duo wasn’t intimidated by her intelligence and because Duo didn’t pressure her about sex because, well, the church kind of insisting on waiting until after marriage and even though Relena was NOT Mormon, she seemed perfectly content to confine any amorous activities to kissing and some frotting that always left Duo feeling regretful because he REALLY shouldn’t be wondering what it would feel like if Relena had a cock. She had been the girl who had introduced Duo to her older brother, finishing up his master’s degree at Michigan and home for the holiday. She had been the girl who had then walked in on her older brother giving Duo a blow job that had cemented the fact that nope, he was not one perfect girl away from being straight. Not even a little.

 

Duo and Relena were still friends, still close - close enough that more than a few guys had asked Duo for PERMISSION to ask out Relena, which resulted in Duo usually laughing hard enough to tear up before he pulled himself together and suggested they never ever tell her they had asked a man PERMISSION to ask out Relena. It had taken her a few months to forgive him but, as she told him one night in her dorm room over a bottle of tequila, she had always wondered if he was really straight. She had, she sighed, hoped he was bisexual at least. 

 

After that disastrous holiday visit with the fam, Duo hadn’t seen Zechs again until the following fall semester - when the first year doctoral candidates all presented at a research symposium and Duo had literally run into Zechs, dumping punch all over both of them, and Zechs had had to give his presentation with a giant pink stain on both his khakis and his crisp blue dress shirt. 

 

“No, she didn’t invite me,” Duo answered Zechs. “I think one family getaway was enough for her. For all of us.”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Zechs murmured, eyebrow still arched, cool gaze speculative.

 

Over the past year and a half, there had been… TOO many nights when Duo had found himself at Zechs’s apartment, or in Zechs’s car, or in Zechs’s lab space. Too many nights and too many mornings sneaking out, and just… too much and yet not enough. Somehow never enough.

 

Duo didn’t really have a response for Zechs’s comment. He never really knew what to say around Zechs. Never said the right thing, never felt comfortable or RIGHT. He knew he was always just one stupid thing away from boring Zechs or humiliating him or-

 

“Noin said you turned in a blank midterm for Zhao.”

 

Duo turned away from Zechs, feeling his eyes burn and his throat constrict. He shrugged, but he couldn’t think of anything to say.

 

Zechs sighed and moved towards him. Duo flinched, and Zechs froze, his lips tightening.

 

Duo was used to that - used to Zechs’s frustration. He wondered why Zechs even bothered anymore. Relena had hated it - still did, but now that they weren’t dating or whatever, she didn’t really try to touch him, didn’t take him by surprise with hugs from behind or fall against him or try to touch his face. These days, it was mostly hugs, all from the front, with plenty of notice for Duo to pull away or at least, see what was coming. 

 

Despite his clear irritation, Zechs completed the gesture, reaching out his hand and resting it on Duo’s shoulder lightly. 

 

“What happened?”

 

He cared. He genuinely cared and he always had. Even from the beginning, from that dumb fucking night when Duo hadn’t been able to sleep and had sat out on one of the many balconies and watched the snow fall and Zechs had leaned against the railing, had listened to Duo talk about growing up in too many foster homes and never seeing snow before except for that one time it had snowed in Vegas at Christmas. 

 

“Nothing.” Duo should go. Should finish his beer and stumble home and curl up alone in his tiny apartment and try to sleep. He should NOT lean towards Zechs. Should not practically fucking purr when Zechs’s hand shifted down his back, rubbing over his spine, up and down in the most soothing touch Duo had ever experienced. “I’m a fucking loser.”

 

Zechs’s hand stilled.

 

“No, you aren’t.”

 

Duo gave him a look, which Zechs returned.

 

“Trowa… I had to put him to sleep last night. He…”

 

And then Duo was crying. Like a pathetic fucking asshole, and Zechs was hugging him, was folding Duo against his body as if he could protect him from the world, and Duo knew he couldn’t. Knew that Zechs would let go and it would all still be there. Knew that this would end, like everything else did. And he would be alone again. 

 

Just like he always was.

 


End file.
